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The Withered TreeA Collection of Tales and Poems
Ravindra Subramaniam Kashyap
Dedicated toMy parents for giving me my life
andLord Shiva for keeping my faith in him
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Contents
1 Preface 3
2 Acknowledgment 4
3 Tales 53.1 The Black Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63.2 Together At last . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93.3 A Canine Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133.4 Atop a Hill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
4 Poems 174.1 Did He? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184.2 The Castle of Sand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194.3 The Dark Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214.4 The Deathly Towers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224.5 The Lake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234.6 The Withered Tree . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
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1 Preface
Human mind, as we know (or we think we know) is a very intricate andhighly complicated system. Even with the advancements in science andtechnology, the human mind has still remained to be elusive, Psychology orthe study of human nature is still at large a matter of speculation basedon the psychologists similar experiences with other people in his past, oris based on deductions based on books which are again some one else’sexperiences.
Human mind has highly delicate emotions, and thinking capabilities.The reason why I call human thinking and emotions delicate is for thisreason: As every one of us might have observed, the line between sanityand insanity is very blur, emotions can takeover thinking capabilities andthinking can take over (or rather purge) emotions. Some emotions, whichwe feel that we have killed or quenched, might surge up at some moments.These emotions might be the fear towards a very old foe, love or desiretowards your long forgotten crush.
Here I’ve presented a collection of Poems and tales, which I wanted toshare with you. After you finish this collection, you will feel that this prefaceis in no way related to this collection. This preface is my brief insight intothe human mind and so I have put it here.
Now read on..
Ravindra Subrmaniam KashyapBengaluru
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2 Acknowledgment
First of all, a big thanks to the goddess of words, Saraswathy, who helpedme to maintain a free flow of words. A big bowl of gratitude to my fam-ily, who frequently had to go through the ordeal of reading everything Iwrite. I should not forget the comments given by my brother-in-law Mr.Raghavendra Rao, about the organization of the story ”Canine Day”. Withhis subtle but very significant comments, the story now has a very refinedfeel. With his constant encouragement, my writing experience was nevertiresome. Finally I would like to thank all the wonderful people involved inthe LATEXproject. This entire document was prepared in LATEX.
I fill finish this section with nice words from the Australian action nov-elist, Matthew Reilly, whom I consider as one of the best modern actionwriter.
”To anyone who knows a writer, never underestimate the powerof your encouragement.”
RSKBengaluru
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3 Tales
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3.1 The Black Empire
Internal Memo
From,Director,University of DelhiDelhi 110007
To,Prof. Vasudeva SharmaH.O.DDepartment of African StudiesUniversity of DelhiDelhi 110007
We are delighted and honored to inform you that the funds forthe African expedition, which you had asked for, have been approved.The approved amount shall be according to your requirements. Allthe expenses for the Expedition shall be borne by the Universityconsidering your expertise in this domain. Please send us a listof the research fellows accompanying you and also the tour details.
We wish you good luck.
Thanks,
Sd/-Director
’Our Director has approved the expedition at last’, muttered professoradjusting his gold-rimmed eyeglasses, walking down gingerly from his roomtowards the parking lot. ’One more round of firing from Saroja, I have totell her that I’m leaving this weekend’, thought professor climbing his oldWilly’s Jeep (LH) and heading home.
Professor Vasudeva Sharma, at 70, was one of the most senior facultymembers in Delhi University. He used to spend a good part of his day inthe university despite his age. He was fascinated - almost obsessed - withhis work. He had no mouldy diseases, which usually takes its toll on agedbody leaving them longing more to die than to live. Sharma’s only problemwas of wheezing which rarely threatened him. For he only had mentioned
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on several occasions - ’ I’ve umpteen diseases to moan but shouldn’t, I won’tdie of wheezing, I’m too tough to die from such a petty disease’.
Professor was always engrossed in the culture and heritage of a lostZimbabwean civilization. His knowledge in this regard had earned him greatrespect in his fraternity.
He was so much into this civilization, that he was heard saying in oneof his lectures, which had commanded a large audience as usual - ’ Twothings have always meant to me a lot - my father’s inspiring words, and theMushona people’.
Second and maybe a last opportunity had caught the professor to studya civilization, which, he considered as his second family. On the unoccupiedJeep seat right to him sat a small attach-case, which had one of his mostacclaimed research papers whose abstract read like this.
The Origin of the Black Empire of Zimbabwe(Dzimba-dza-tnabwe)
Vasudeva SharmaEmiretus Professor
Department of African StudiesUniversity of Delhi
Abstract
This Article is one more attempt on the long lasting question aboutthe origin of the massive constructions dating back to as latest as 1100-1450 AD. These constructions involved massive walls with height ofabout 35 feet and lengths of up to 800 feet, which were called Imba-hura or Acro-polis. These constructions were wrongly attributed toEuropeans and biblical queens like queen Sheeba. Working on thelines of Archeologists like Carl Mauch, Theodere Bent, David Halland many others, I strongly believe that the constructions were theaccomplishments of Shona (or Moshona) people.
The professor was so obsessed that he used to say - ’ I’ll die one day inthis research’.
They reached Mushona land starting from Delhi that weekend. Thetwenty five-member team consisted of research students, Photographers, X-ray technicians, and several other workers who generally accompany suchexpeditions (whether useful or not). They had setup a camp close to thedigging site where the digging had already started on professor’s instruc-tions. They rested for an entire day. On the dawn of the next day a studentcame running to professor giving him a brightly colored earthen jar, whichhe told that he had got it from the digging site.
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The Jar was indeed beautifully adored with bright paintings all overit and was sealed with a lacquer kind of glue. Something was written inMushona dialect near the rim of the jar. Any other researcher would havestruggled to read it but not the same with the professor who had spent allhis life studying this civilization. He began reading these lines, which closelymeant:
Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build itlabor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over thecity, the watchman stays awake in vain. It is in vainthat you rise up early and go late to rest, eating thebread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.
Lo, sons are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of thewomb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warriorare the sons of one’s youth. Happy is the man whohas his quiver full of them! He shall not be put toshame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.
–Psalm 127. A Song of Ascents. Of Solomon. 1
His interest was tripled when he read these lines. He thought to himselfthat: if it is so securely sealed, it has to have something really precious (orperhaps dangerous!). With these thoughts in his mind he opened the jar.A small glass vial lay there broken and a strange yellowish-green gas cameout of it. It smelled strange, smelled like gases in a Chemistry lab. A ClayTablet was there along with the glass jar, which read
” I set out on an effort to find a cure. A cure for the sleepingdisease, so common in our people. But to my dismay, nobodycame forward to test this medicine. With no other options, I’vedecided to test this on myself. I’m experiencing a strange feelinghitherto not felt. I feel like being hit by a thousand thunderbolts,feel like being pricked by a needle all over my body. My breath isbecoming cold, and heart is slowing down. My vision is gettingblurred; the lamp I see doesn’t glare my eyes anymore. I canfeel unseen hands pounding on my chest. This might be my lastfinding and yours..? ”
Professor collapsed - dead.
1excerpts taken from http://ldolphin.org/ , written by Lambert Dolphin
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3.2 Together At last
’Sir, please come in’ called out the pretty nurse who was standing outsidethe little room, situated in one of the corners of a big hall, property ofKarnataka Cocoa Marketing Co-operative Society.
She was referring to Mr. Shashikanth, who was the senior clerk in thatcompany. The nurse with utmost care and patience led him into the room.The room was pretty small but well lit and well ventilated. The occupants ofthat room were Dr. Hariprasad, who was gracefully sitting behind a whiterubber wood desk and his able assistant Mrs. Ramya. Mr. Shashikanthslowly and carefully occupied the chair in front of the doctor’s desk, all thetime being lead by the pretty nurse. Mr. Shashikanth was aged around70 years, but the aging was hardly visible, due to his vigor and energy heshowed in his work. But from the past 10 days the age had taken its tolland he was suddenly losing all the fire in his body, which used to mark hisvery presence.
’May be my time is up and he is calling me back’, murmured Shashikanthas he sat in front of Dr. Hariprasad who was calm and dignified.
’ Sir, please don’t keep saying these, at least not in front of your wifeand loved ones’, said the doctor, trying to convince Shashikanth to try outsome advancement in technology to lengthen his life.
All this doctor-nurse drama was part of the Annual Health Check-up,which was being conducted by his company. The doctor, besides his regularkit consisting of a stethoscope & thermometers, was not well equipped atthat time to conduct a full-fledged checkup. He slowly got up from his chairand gestured his assistant to bring the Blood pressure monitor. She slowlywrapped the sensor pad around Shashikanth’s left arm and stood besidehim.
The BP monitor after beeping continuously for a minute showed the re-sults on its big LCD display.Systolic : 90 mm of HgDiastolic: 140 mm of HgPULSE : 45 /min
’ Holy shit, that’s pretty serious’, thought Hariprasad to him self. Hissudden emotions were clearly seen by his nurse. But as with all the doctors,he remained complacent throughout his conversations with Shashikanth.
’ Sir, I recommend you to pay a visit to Shivashankar Hospital for aroutine cardiac test’, came the good advice from the very able doctor.
’ Is something wrong with me doctor, I’m ready to die, and you don’t
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have to hide anything from me’, came the desperate words from Shashikanthwho was already panting unable to speak even for short durations.
’ No sir, believe me, its just a routine checkup just to make sure thatyou’re as healthy as ever’, said Hariprasad as he handed over a slip toShashikanth, which he told Shashikanth to produce in the Cardiac centerwhenever he went for his checkup.
As Shashikanth was at the door, Hariprasad called out ’ Sir, you’ll leaveat least for another 15 years, nothing in this world can stop you from leavingthat longer’
But lurking in his mind was the thought, serious thoughtHigh blood pressure, low pulse rate, Shit! Must be VTCShashikanth was in his own world when he came out of the doctor’s
room. He began to speculate all the things, which would follow his checkup.All the time he knew that his heart was weakening and his death was withhim like a shadow.Unlike the shadow in bright daylight, this was dark, ugly and cold.The last shadow!
He remembered the last time when a minor hairline fracture had gainedunnatural and uncalled for attention from his wife, Yashodha. He knew thathis report would reveal some abnormality in him, followed by a major surgerycosting lacs! He never had such a huge amount of money in his possession.All that he had was a modest house. He had no kids, which made hislife even easier with the meager salary he was getting. His wife worked ina nearby library. But the thought of a surgery made him uncomfortable.God saved him that he had at least enough money for his cardiac checkup.Thinking thus he went to the Cardiac center and got his check-up done.
He reached his home but his wife was not to be found anywhere. Heentered his house only to be received by a frantic ringing of his telephoneHe picked up the phone
’Hello, Shashikanth speaking’.’Hello, sir it’s Reena calling from Hardwar Hospital, is it Yashoda’s hus-
band speaking’.’Yes, what’s the matter is Yashoda alright’, came a panic reply from
Shashikanth.’Nothing to worry, sir, your wife had come for a regular checkup. Our
doctor, Dr Chandrashekar, wants to speak to you in this regard. We gen-erally don’t prefer to speak to patients themselves regarding their healthcondition, please could you make yourself available at 11:30 tomorrow’
Next morning Mr. Shashikanth went to meet Dr. Chandrashekar. Thedoctor was lean and tall and had a healthy air around him. Even before the
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doctor had invited him into his room, Shashikanth barged into the cabin,utterly worried. The thought of losing his wife made him shudder with fearand agony. In his desperate attempt to enquire about his wife’s health, hehad forgotten his own ill health
’How is Yashoda, what’s wrong with her, will she be OK’ cried Shashikanth’ I can’t live even for a moment without her, I’ll give my life to save
her’, said Shashikanth with tears rolling out from his eyes. He was pantinghorribly, gasping for a breath.The doctor sat besides him and in a comforting tone, began showing theECG reports
’Sir, your wife is suffering from a heart disease’ the doctor began’I think from the past several months, she has been getting mild heart
attacks, she needs immediate medical care’’What!’ exclaimed Shashikanth’ Yes Sir, its true’ Chandrashekar replied’ Even when she came to our hospital, she was complaining about pal-
pitations, fatigue and chest pain all of which can be fatal’ explained thedoctor
’ I think, its better you prepare yourself for her surgery, lets hope for thebest and wait for the eventualities’, told Chandrashekar
’ What’s it going to cost doctor?’ asked Shashikanth’ The whole package shouldn’t cost more than a lac, it will be fine if you
admit her by this weekend’ said the doctor as he came close to Shashikanthand kept his hand on Shashikanth’s shoulder and spoke in a soft tone
’ Sir don’t worry, her life is as important for us as it is to you, nothingto worry’, hearing these words Shashikanth walked out of the room cryingheavily. Just then the doctor called from behind
’ I owe you her life sir, I’ll return it back in a better health than whatI’d received’
At the same time Yashoda had responded to a call from ShivshankarHospital and had gone there. She was coming out crying. Both had thesame heart disease
Both wanted to save each other but didn’t dare to tell it to one-another.Both had to save money for the surgery, but how?Both wanted to save one another’s life. Shashikanth wanted to save
Yashoda and she couldn’t think of living alone. They went around the cityasking their friends and relatives for some help.
After two daysA local newspaper ’New herald’ reported
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Bangalore 12-02-2004 An elderly couple Shashikanth (70) and Yashoda(63) were found dead in their little house near Yeshwanthpur. Initial post-mortem revealed that they had died from a severe heart trauma called Ven-tricular Tachycardias (VTS). They were last seen in the local market onthe day of their death. The police search team also managed to get twoState Bank Of India passbooks, one in Yashoda’s name and another inShashikanth’s name. The balance showed 1lac, each of which is suspectedto be the charge for the heart surgery.
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3.3 A Canine Day
CHAPTER I
I rise every day early in the morning as the sun’s first rays touch myfur. I love the warmth the sunshine brings along with it, which I promptlyuse to warm my nose which would be freezing in the cold gusts blowing allthrough the night. This winter has been the coldest I’ve seen (for this isonly my second).
I try to sleep on the hard and cold clay floor, which my master has gen-erously, allowed me to sleep, eat and do everything else (of course with aprice). After I’ve made myself sure that my wet nose has thawed enough, Itry to inspect the place around me, which will be filled with my unmention-ables. I look out of the balcony, which has a beautiful tray of plants set outon its walls. I look down only to find two beautiful bitches walking around.My senses kick in to bark; suddenly a runaway sets in my mind -
I bark, I get crazy, I again bark with madness and anger.Even if I feel sleepy, I wouldn’t have left a place to sleep. Somewhere dur-
ing the midnight (so do these humans mention to that time of the night whenwe’re forbidden to bark), I would’ve emptied my bowels and the bladder.No body thought me how to stay clean, but I’m just expected to stay clean,how? My early morning ravings are finally stopped, when I’m smacked onmy back or chest by master (he is very good in kicking, how unfortunate ofme!).
CHAPTER II
Oh! By the way, I’m Browny, a brown Doberman pinscher and my ageyou already know. My master is a tall and fair guy whose age I don’t know(C’mon, who’ll tell me his age and I’m anyway bad at numbers), he haslong hairs, which will all be matted, and covering his face when he comes toexercise his long and strong legs at me.
I’m in a lavish and extravagant house, which has several nooks andcorners, which are still unknown to me. This house, which I’ve alreadymentioned is frequented by many people in the evenings, with women glim-mering and smelling like a fresh flower blooming in the primitive rays ofsun.
Hard to swallow is the fact that, I’m still a loner amidst a slew of suchlavish and posh people. No body talks with me except my master who hasa sincere love towards me. His mother occasionally takes great pains injust touching and patting me. She shakes and shudders if she accidentally
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touches my wet nose like I’m some kind of a venomous animal trying todevour its prey.
My early hours pass on without a hitch, leaving the heavy spankings Iget. I think HE hates me whenever I’ve messed up my place for HE patsme in the morning when I’ve forgotten to empty my bowels, which I usuallycarry out in front of a small room set aside for me.
I’m fed well not to forget the regular hot water baths I get. My coat isshiny and I’m sure the bitches find me attractive for they shoot their cravingeyes on me during my evening walks.
CHAPTER III
People are really strange, as strange as my master himself. He is apassionate lover sometimes shrouded in violent bursts of anger. His moodchanges as quickly as I can possibly imagine. This moment he’ll be pattingand rubbing my belly only to kick and push me aside in the next. Hedoesn’t tell me so many things, which he is supposed to, but still expectsme to follow him
My noon and evening pass without any remarkable things happening. Allday, I lay there in the room with my head resting on the metal doorframe,which would be getting hotter and hotter in the midday sun. I watch thecolorful flowers fading away which looked so gay in the morn. As the sunbegins to set, I keep watching the blue sky turning into bright orange andcrimson and finally into a deep indigo, which brings with it the innocentlytwinkling stars and crescent moon on the horizon.
I keep watching the small birds and parrots and crows flocking towardstheir nights hide out. I envy them for they have all the freedom and nomaster who shows love towards others by binding them in chains. I like toplay with those kids who, I know, love me, but they don’t allow me to. EvenI’m a kid wanting to play and run and cover my body with fresh damp mud.Even I like to show my love towards them (We’re always expected to beunconditionally loving and ever forgiving). I don’t know the reason behindtheir dreadful and disdained feelings towards me.
I sometimes wonder, whether I mean something in their lives, whetherI’ve a place in their hearts. I sometimes feel uncomfortable amidst theirhostility; they sometimes speak of sending me to their cousins’ house in therain forests, sometimes speaking of letting me out expecting me never toreturn.
Love is same across all forms of life; the love of the birds towards theiryoung ones, the love of a flowering plant towards its flower, which it has
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taken great care to see them bloom. Love is not about expectations (whileprobably farming is) but is about care, understanding and freedom. I lovemy master but never expected anything besides a pat or two on my back inthe evening on his return from the day’s work. But I think people see lovein a different way, for they expect an ounce in return for their every drop oflove bestowed upon others. Maybe that’s the reason I see so many gloomyfaces in the evening.
CHAPTER IV
Day passes after day as I earnestly hope for a wild and exciting daybrought upon by the dawn. All days are same for me. Sundays are same asMondays, autumns are same as springs and summers are same as winters(spare the withering leaves and blooming flowers). That’s a dog’s life, atleast my life that is.
CHAPTER V
’I love you master, but I don’t like to see you in chains, but you’
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3.4 Atop a Hill
Once a tree stood on the edge, atop a hill. Its leaves, fleshy and healthy,and shade stretching yards across. It stood amidst a forest, a forest dweltby pretty birds and sweet butterflies. The forest, though frequented by thegod’s beauty, none did dare to touch the tree, let alone perch and sing.
Once a sparrow came to this forest, from the distant south. It searchedfor a tree, which would be its home till its young ones emerge and learn tofly. It searched and searched for it but none was unoccupied. The earlybirds had got a place. Tired and sore, the bird finally came to the tree,standing atop a hill. All its branches were vacant and all of its fruits ripeand untouched.The sparrow, awestruck, went to the tree.
’O great tree of the hill, can you permit me to make the place my homefor this summer’.
’Go away, you meager weakling, I’m not here for the deprived’.’O great tree, please let me nest here, for I have to lay eggs and see them
hatch’.’Go away, you little birdie, aren’t you ashamed of yourself, wandering
places and begging for a nest’.’Its in the circle of life of a tree, that we’re the key. We disperse your
seeds to the distant lands, which you can just dream to see’.’You miserable feathery nomad of the winds. You’ve neither a place to
stand nor to fly. While you perch, you’re at the mercy of the reptiles, andin the mercy of the hawks in air’.
’Look at me, my branches stretch out to see the world below, wind norrain can shale me. I’m the greatest, go away. You’re unworthy of my eliteness. You’re here today elsewhere on the morrow, don’t stand in the shadeof the superior’.
Just then gusts of wind broke out and gales rocked the forest. A torrent,a cloud burst washed the hill top. None stood a chance, all the earth waswashed away.
When the rains stopped, the tree on the edge stood its ground, but itsroots were all dried, baked in the sun. The roots, hitherto buried under thesoil, stood out in front of the blazing sun to suffer his anguish.
The tree started to dry up. Its branches full of leaves were no morethan broken twigs, leaves withering. Standing there, the tree waiting for itsend, realized that, what matters is how deep our roots are, and not how ourvision sees.
However high a tree might be but will one day be waiting for a drop oflove to be watered on its dried up roots.
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4 Poems
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4.1 Did He?
Did the hands that crafted meMade you too?Did the minds that set my courseSet yours too?
I was created for a reason, which remains obscure,We met and did part,
We thought and fought,Are we being the pawn the craftsmen thought?
What vivid colour he might have had?The inner spark that drove him,Created a garden of us and them,With faces sad and mind but bad.
Did the hands that dug the grave,Rocked the cradle too?
Did the hands that made lilies bloom,Made the human bird that lost its plume?
Did the hands that coloured the skies,Made the human raft adrift in the bloody seas.
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4.2 The Castle of Sand
Once a lone-some traveler,Saw a holy saint in the distant yonder.Treading the paths, long winding,Amidst the desert, with unmaskable grace.
’Oh! Great holy saint, please stop,’cried out the traveler,’stop,’ cried out the traveler, ’Oh! Holy saint from the distant yonder,’’pray stop the great holy saint from the holy land of wisdom,’’confide in me, the power of fate that spares neither a man nor a king nor akingdom.’
’Oh! Distant traveler, life is but a castle of sand,Made of sand and resting on sand.Adored by unfathomable glitter in the daylight,Looks unquestionably lonely in the moonlight.’
’Castle of sand looks so strong,To be crippled by the mighty waves for it’s’ no wrong.The mighty castle had risen from the sand,Crumpled to a thousand grains, to be picked up by the mighty hand.’
’The castle was here for years,Gone and gone forever, sailing in the seas of human tears,Thousands and Thousands of castles were built,Immeasurably graceful from the castle already built.’
’All were made from the same grains of sand,All were made by the same almighty hand.He who made the mighty castle,Made the mighty seas and high waves.’
’A castle will fall, another will rise again,For none doth exists that has stood the mighty waves,A castle will fall only to make roomfor a prettier castle, though the smiting absence will forever loom.’
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’Oh! Distant traveler, do not despair,This has been for aeon, so says the lore.A castle might fall crumbling into grains,But its legacy shall continue, beyond the sandy grains’
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4.3 The Dark Matter
They say universe is filled with dark matter,That can break the cosmos or hold them tight.Why doesn’t the world abounds with it?To hold people together.
Why can’t we stay like this forever?Singing and dancing with no care for the yonder.
Faces seen today are amiss on the morrow,Love and humility are affray.
The fright of the empty glass,Vents the joy of the wine so drunk.Always will tomorrow make today shallow,To eat us alive from within.
Why should we live to see tomorrow?When you’ve bid a good-bye to the loved ones.
What does this lone journey mean?Will we one day unite in eternity,
In the heavens abode.
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4.4 The Deathly Towers
We stand and stare,At the crystal glare.Somewhere in the distant mare,There stands a tower high and lone,Rounded by a wall of the hardest stone.Where its doors are - none doth know but dead.Anyone who’s ’live, sunken in the life’s mead,Wouldn’t dare to search for it,For it’s the last door we’ll survive.Do not speak of death, with words of naıve.
Immortal soul gather in line around,Circling the highest altar, whom they surround,There is trance, joy and a wordless pleasure.On the altar floats a misty globe: its radiance beyond measure.
The souls long departed from their hides,Reaching these shores after gasping in the worldly tide.This World makes us think we’re unconquerable,Faked by the swords of strength and the needles of words,Are our powers, which are unworthy upon the deadly lords.
What are we, Oh! Mortal.Aren’t we a fly crushed by the mighty palms?Or a beggar asking for worldly alms?Aren’t we like the stars, shining in our own worlds?We’re outshone and disappeared by the day break.
The tower of death looming above us,Its keepers lurking behind us,Beware, we’re always in the shadows of death,Its swords hidden in its stench, the sheath.
For our thoughts and words will survive,Be aware of what you speak and don’t dive,Headlong into the murky waters of naıve.
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4.5 The Lake
I stand, neck-deep in a lake,The lake of five mistakes.Darkness surrounds it from everywhere,With thorns guarding the waters.I’ve been here so many times,Convicted to get out at many times.
I see nothing but unwanted remorse.I hear nothing but frantic cries.With leeches sucking my juices,
Water beetles gnawing at my mind,Vultures biting my heart out,
And the depths pulling me down.
Once in a while, I see a light - distant,Once in a while, I see a hand - calling,I hear warnings, to evict the lake,For the lake has devoured many healthy minds.I build a raft and try to sail across,Only to cripple and fall back into the lake.
I see no hopes of getting out,I can hear a distant whisper,
I can feel a cry, tormented,I might have to heed the distant voice,
Embrace the gentle touch,And get out of it forever.
The lake of five mistakes,The lake, which drowns everyone sailing,The lake of misfortune and mishap,The lake ever-present in our lives,The lake we promise to leave,The lake that stays with us forever.
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At times we’ll be on the shores,Only to fall headfirst at others.
Nobody listens to the distant whisper,Nobody embraces the gentle touch,
Nobody lights their inner lamps,We’ll all die one-day in the lake
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4.6 The Withered Tree
Midst the barren land of expanse vastStood a tree - the day seemed its lastGreen leaves turned yellowIts succulent trunk sucked hollowRoots exposed to the grueling sunThe tree stood the day it long hoped to shun
Till the distant horizon the eyes could gazeNothing but the horrid dusty haze
Nothing left for it to savor and feastBut the eroded earth devoid of its taste
Long forgotten are those daysShowered with immeasurable love by the fays
Surrounded by roses and lilies - you can call the bestBranches and trunk full of birds’ nestLeaves treated with winds fragrantWashed in the morning dew- it stood vibrantFaced with the turnaboutReluctant was the tree to face this bout
The earth promises of taste once againWinds preach: there is nothing to loose but gain
The streams assure that the roots would be wateredLilies would heal the tree that stood battered
Tree can’t speak, tries to mimeNone knows what will stand the test of time
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The End
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